You go back out to to the beginning of the path, passing mirrors that branch off into insects, lizards, birds, and fish, and there's the first mirror you looked into -- which holds a blurry image that sort of resembles your original male self, but after having been turned into a girl twice, aged, de-aged, doggified and now a kangaroo, you're not sure what that original self was. You vaguely recall that you weren't anything very special, but that's somehow not important to you because you're going to take what you can in order to get back at least a semblance of humanity.
As you stare into the mirror it becomes clearer. Your upper body becomes extremely muscular -- red kangaroo males were known for being buff and tough. Your arms are long and ripple and bulge, your hands large and squared off with 'roo claws rather than human nails, but they still fit fine into the boxing gloves you carry laced together and thrown over your left shoulder. Your human aspect stretches your chest and shoulder girdle wider, so that you have a powerful athlete's upper body with thick muscle everywhere. Your neck and upper back are thick and powerful and show every bulging muscle even though they aren't quite the same structure as your former human shape.
Your abdomen is partly human and partly kangaroo. Rather than a tight narrow six-pack or a strong cylindrical shape going out to the powerful kangaroo legs, you have a muscular cylinder, wrapped front to back and side to side by almost over-developed muscle, a sort of plate of muscle leading down to your hips, with back and side muscles to match, and you know it's all more than just for show.
Your legs and tail are still those of a kangaroo, though with a bit more of a humanlike shape to the thighs, and the muscles in your back that balance your tail are bigger and sexier. That's a change -- you notice that you are extremely aware of your attractiveness, not a thing you remember from being human -- well, perhaps as a little girl but that is firmly behind you. You bounce a bit on your feet, and notice as your image grows sharper and clearer that you are not naked any more. Your modesty is concealed by what feels like a jock strap with a built-in protective cup -- and given that you're at least sixty percent kangaroo, that's probably a good idea -- and over the top of that, a sort of wrap-on silk or rayon garment that uses a velcro belt to hold it in place, resembling what basketball or boxing shorts would be if the boxer had a tail as big as their legs, which of course you do.
You have short, generally downy fur with longer, blond-red guard hairs that stick up a bit past the fuzz, and it covers your entire body, including your face, which is not a kangaroo's deer-like shape, but more like a modified human. You have the big brain-case, the larger forward-looking human eyes, but also the large and mobile ears that can hear the distant chaos of the midway outside and the occasional gasp, grunt, or surprised bleat of the other former humans in the mirror maze. Your irises are a blue-green, not the usual brown, but you remember wearing blue contacts as a human. You're not wearing contacts, but you can see fine. You have a pair of goggles resting on your forehead that you think would probably go on when you're boxing, and you're wearing pads on your elbows, knees, and around your toes that match the color of your boxing gloves. Your snout -- it's not quite a muzzle and clearly not a human nose --- it's wide all the way down, has a sort of five-sided shape where it meets above the cleft of your lips. Your jaw is stronger, wider, and extends forward further than a humans, giving you a sort of animal-profile but also a face that's mobile enough for human-ish expressions. You smile. Your teeth are strong and you still have the canines you had as a human, perhaps a bit larger even. You are clearly an omnivore... and you hear someone call into the doorway.
"JACKY! You're on in ten minutes, stop admiring yourself!"
That's your manager. You're a professional fighter. You're twenty-two years old, a mixed-species Open Fighting Union combat specialist with a middle-high ranking in the Union. You're here at the fairgrounds next to the carnival because part of the spectacle and entertainment for the Midsommer Faire is a set of regular ranked fights, plus some (screened) challenger-combats with humans who want to try their skills.
You hop out the door, grinning widely at the pair of teenage boys who are waiting to go inside.
"Keep your heads, mates," you say, and leap off to the tent where the fights are going to be held soon.